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Having never been a boy, I had no idea about all the weird shit boys do to get off. Even though I had a big brother, I wasn’t privy to the vast array of strange self-satisfying tools and tricks teenage boys have up their sleeves. That is, until I met my husband and he told me a hilarious story about why he loved climbing the pole at school.
“At first,” he explained, “I just climbed because I liked to see how fast I could get to the top. But one day when I climbed something weird happened. It felt really good. Like, so good I would make sure to climb that pole every morning and every lunch.”
Even as my own sons grew, I didn’t understand just how resourceful boys could be, until I questioned my then-12-year-old about why he had a giant box of condoms in his bedroom.
His hesitation should have been my first clue.
“Well, umm,” he said. “I use them to, uh, you know…”
“To what?” I asked. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
“Oh. Oh, well, OK,” was all I managed to say.
A week later, while out for drinks with my girlfriends, who also had teen boys, I asked if that was normal.
“I don’t know about condoms,” my friend Tammy said, “but I found out my son Charlie was using socks.”
“Socks?” I had never heard of boys sexualizing slippers.
“Yeah, socks. Your boys don’t do that?” Tammy asked. “Well, Charlie does. I swear I won’t even touch his laundry anymore. All it took was one time grabbing a sock that was hard as a rock and I was done. It was nasty!”
Learning about socks, and laughing my ass off watching the Bridesmaids scene where a mom describes cracking her son’s comforter, made me curious about what other means boys employ to get their (pun intended) socks off.
Naturally, I first turned to my husband and sons to learn more. I was in for a surprise with their answers.
Like machine gun fire, my eldest son listed his favorite masturbation props.
“Let’s see, there’s good old wadded-up toilet paper, towels, even shirts. Heck, I’ll use dirty laundry if it’s there. Whatever is within reach, really,” he shared. As he spoke, my younger son nodded his head emphatically.
“Anything else?” I asked. I was all business. Hey, who was I to judge? As a teen, I’d had an amorous moment or two with my favorite bottle of perfume, Love’s Baby Soft, which, if anyone remembers, was totally shaped like a dildo.
“OK, don’t laugh, but one time I put my penis in the vacuum hose,” my youngest said.
“While it was on?” I asked. I’d lost my deadpan expression the moment I picture my son losing his penis in a vacuuming accident.
“Yeah, but it was on low, don’t worry,” he reassured me. “It didn’t feel that good, so I only did it once.”
“Oh, what about paper towel rolls?” my oldest added. “And that time I used the cantaloupe?”
Even my husband was shocked at the cantaloupe revelation. Fruit. Really? I thought that was only a thing women in prison did.
“And the trash can,” my youngest said. Was nothing sacred?
By the end of our conversation, I had the idea that my sons, and probably all teenage boys, used anything and everything at their disposal to masturbate.
With my curiosity quelled, I had to wonder if my quest for knowledge was a worthy endeavor. Honestly, I’ll probably never look at a cantaloupe the same way again, but I am grateful I had this awkward, yet illuminating, discussion with my kids.
They felt confident enough to be real, knowing full well I would write this information and share it with the world. It may seem like too much for some parents, but talks like these let me know that my sons can truly be open with me about any subject, no matter how uncomfortable. Like, penis-in-a-vacuum uncomfortable. Ouch.
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Why you should have your end-of-life discussion now

May 26, 2015
Kevin
5

What you say matters: An insensitive comment in the ICU

May 26, 2015
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A high school physical that shook this student to the core
11 comments

I didn’t really notice him standing in line. But how could I? Hundreds of kids came through the high school gym yesterday. His turn for the heart and lung portion of the high school sports physical had come. He said he was going to play baseball and basketball. How could he with that arm he carried so carefully? I am not here to judge, I am here to serve. Everyone deserves an opportunity to participate. To hold on to the hope and glory of being that championship team.
So I began the interview. Immediately I noticed how long it took him to answer. Surely he was intimidated by the masses as much as I was. He denied having any difficulties in his lower extremities. He denied any heart or lung problems. I was not ready for his next answer. But am I ever ready? He admitted that someone in his family had died suddenly. It was his mom six years ago. I responded how I was taught to with my sorrow for his loss. His mother died from a brain aneurysm at 32. Red flags shot into the air.
At that moment, I can honestly say I couldn’t recall any heart-related issue associated with brain aneurysms that would preclude him from participating in high school sports. But the last thing I need is some kid to die because I as a medical student didn’t just speak up at his free sports physical. However, I now live with the consequences of saying something. The good: He might get some good follow-up and be able to play next year. The bad: He is lost to follow-up.
I gave report to a physician I was serving with because I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Time nearly froze as he was checking that “not approved to participate box.” The student was to get an EKG and an echocardiogram. His provider was the community health center (CHC) I am a student at. I knew that likely meant he had Medicaid. What did that mean with a dead mom, a dad who if he was even around was maybe working six or seven days a week in the fields or dairies, or maybe he was some foster kid? Maybe he was even homeless. There sure are plenty of them around here. I don’t really know. I had to keep the line moving.
Did he just give up and toss that paper? Is he ever going to get to the CHC? Does he have a ride? If he gets there, will they actually refer him for the EKG and echo? If so, how long will that take if the overseeing group for his Medicaid even approves the tests? Curse you Medicaid contractor. Will it be in time for him to try out? Will he get a taste of the glory? Will he even get a shot at hoping to taste the glory?
He walked away, or rather kind of limped. Remember that arm? He had a leg to match. He just slumped away into the crowd of able-bodied teens maybe never to be seen again. I can’t stop thinking about him.
My wife likes to hear every detail about my day. Of course, I can’t provide all the details. However, I bawled as I relayed what had happened earlier. We cried together. We both knew the plight of this young man was not looking promising. I don’t really think he has much to look forward to in life. Ever. I could be dead wrong, but my experience tells me it looks as dim as that last glimmer of light I snuffed out of him yesterday. I really want to go find him and fix what I think is broken.
Broken about him. Broken about the system. Broken about life.
Will R. Goodrich is a medical student.

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Primary Care

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